Hup and away early to shake orft the marina cobwebs. Took about 100 hours to unshackle the Houdini like web of warps and odds and ends holding us on. New crew Min still nervously learning her clovehitches from her mainbraces as we pull away. Great waves from our neighbours and blown xxx's from the Columbian bar landlady with the big tankards. Clear of the breakwater and its a quick MOB evolution for Min who gets her man after N attempts. Always do that with new crew as its also tests out the boat as well. Course for Islas Lobos across the narrow straits to Fuerteventura.
Narrow little anchoring area on the south of this little island just off a rocky pier. Dropped the pick. Must be out of practice as ended up only a few yards from (probably rightly) grumpy couple in steel Belgian yachty. Put them right off their sausage frites and strudel, probably. Anyway SHE kept her back to us and refused to smile. Dropped back a bit more and all was well. Not enough time to get the rubberdubby up and explore as need to get away to get a safe refuge for the night halfway down the rocky Fuerte coast. Quick scramblers and bacon for brunch and up anchor. Leaving the anchorage Min discovered the colour of adrenaline. She was driving and heading straight for a sailing school bateau lying peacefuly at anchor. She had a sudden fit of lapin gelee dan les phares not helped by my casual shout from below of 'oh pass it either side, but just make sure one side is not too shallow'. Scream of anguish from helm, and startlement on the deck of the opposition.
Eventually off we went hurtling down the coast of Fuerte. Varying conditions iron topsail to 1 reef wind on nose. Zilch wildlife or fishy creatures.
Amazing indigo and purple sunset. Dark very early and this is a poorly lit coast, with few safe anchorages for our unusual mostly onshore wind direction. Eventually we find the little port of Castilio for which we have only out of date and conflicting info. However, all the info says 'difficult and dangerous, fringed by reefs, do not enter at night'. What few lights there are are supposed to be visible 3 to 5 miles but we see none. Gingerly (never sure what that means but seems appropriate) we approach where we think the entrance might be. Eventually we find a tiny red buoy lit by a Woolworths 1.5v battery and torch bulb. Soon after a green ditto. Inside the tiny port there is barely room to swing a lamp so we squeeze alongside a ramshackle finger pier. Probably an illegal berth but the harbourmaster has long gone home. MB's legs still shaking with the adrenaline pumping tension of it all. Short but welcome rest afer a chicken curry gunge ready for callthehands@0430orso.com (just made that one up). TAFNF. spk l8r. MB
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